


The Wild

by downrightpiano



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Blood, Body Horror, Destiny, M/M, in which nothing really happens, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22596799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/downrightpiano/pseuds/downrightpiano
Summary: Geralt sees Jaskier again by chance one year after their falling out on that mountain. However, Jaskier is not Jaskier, and Geralt is left to face down a monstrous entity he has no hope of defeating.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 7
Kudos: 166
Collections: Wasn't Quite Expecting This (But I Loved It)





	The Wild

**Author's Note:**

> I told myself that if this was under 1k, I'd just post it on my Tumblr, but if it's over 1k, it'd be on AO3. And it went over 1k, so there we go.
> 
> Also this was banged out relatively quickly to The Amazing Devil's New York Torch Song on repeat.

It’s at the edge of a burnt out village that Geralt sees him.

Gaudy doublet and matching trousers. A pair of boots too fancy for hard travel. Something is off though. Something in the posture, the bearing.

Geralt has his silver sword out and swinging before the bard has finished turning around.

“Who are you.” It comes out as a statement instead of a question, and Geralt presses the edge of his sword against the imposter’s neck.

The face that’s been haunting him for an entire year splits into sharp teeth, red, red, caricature of his smile. “Has it been so long that you’ve forgotten me, Geralt? It’s me, Jaskier, your barker but ah, not your friend, is that right?”

Geralt growls low in warning. “ _What_ are you.”

The imposter, the thing, the monster, tilts his head, leans into the bite of the blade, blinks his red, red eyes, innocence, falsehood. “That’s just rude now, Geralt. You know what I am. Human, pitifully human, weak and not worthy of your time.”

It’s because he’s a witcher that Geralt’s hand doesn’t tremble. “You’re not him,” he spits, “show your true form.”

The monster smiles and blinks and suddenly there are eyes blinking at him from the stupid slits in Jaskier’s doublet, red, red. “Oh, but this vessel is so pleasant.” It taps a finger against the silver against its throat before gripping the blade in its hand.

Geralt flares his nostrils at the thick smell of blood, of Jaskier’s blood. It trickles down the monster’s wrist. It trickles down Jaskier’s wrist. The thing leans into Geralt’s sword and the delicate skin of his neck splits. The collar of Jaskier’s doublet turns red.

It chuckles and all its eyes wink at Geralt, discordant. “It’s been lovely to wear your bard. Such a harmless guise. It’s so easy to forget how delicate humans are. How vulnerable.”

Geralt makes to jerk the sword away but the thing’s bloody grip anchors it in place.

“Stop spewing nonsense and tell me what you’ve done with him.”

The split in Jaskier’s neck becomes a gash, blood coursing down, soaking into his chemise, his doublet. It visibly throbs, and an eye pushes into existence. It stretches the wound and the skin around it. It is red like the rest of its siblings, red like Jaskier’s blood.

Geralt feels sick to his stomach.

Blood slips out of Jaskier’s mouth as the monster opens it. “He is right in front of you, witcher. Sound asleep, with nary a clue as to what is happening. I am but only borrowing his countenance to witness the events of this world.”

“You’re possessing him.” Geralt states, flatly, indignation and fear and concern bubbling beneath.

The monster rips the sword out of Geralt’s grip and throws it to the side like it’s nothing. “Dear witcher. How right you were that day. He was always there, pushing you towards your destiny but none the wiser. Guileless. Just a humble bard.” He sings it like a perversion.

“Get out of him.” Geralt grits out. “Before I force you out.”

The thing tilts its head at him. “Oh, but who are you to command destiny, witcher? No man or creature is more powerful than I. You who spit in the face of destiny are too small to comprehend the vastness of I.”

Geralt’s legs buckle and he collapses to his knees, an invisible force pressing him down. He glares up at the thing. “Fuck you.”

The monster steps towards him. Earth cracks beneath its feet, beginnings and endings echo in its voice. “You may try all you want, but no one escapes destiny, witcher.” Its voice, nowhere and everywhere. “I am inevitable.”

A band of pain wraps around the witcher’s ribs. Geralt chokes on it, lungs constricting, breath tight with crushing agony. He steadies himself with one hand on the ground and with great effort raises his head to look the thing in the eyes. He pants against the backdrop of a fracturing sky, of the burnt husk of a village crumbling to dust. “Take me instead. I’m the one you want. Let the bard go and I’m yours.”

Tears of blood slide down Jaskier’s cheeks, red, red. “Wrong, witcher. Your story does not end here. You still have a part to play in this sprawling tapestry. The girl in the woods will be with you always, and that is only the beginning.” Fathomless dark and endlessness swirl behind his eyes, enough to break a mere man. “No, witcher. You will not die today.”

Geralt is no mere man. His tendons and muscles strain with the effort to keep himself upright. “If you want me to do my part, then you have to let the bard go.” He snarls against his invisible bonds. “If he dies, then you have my word I’ll do everything in my power to tear down everything you’ve done. I slay monsters, and you are just one more for my blade to cut down.”

“Your loyalty is admirable, but you are only one man.” The thing stands in front of him and gazes at him with eternity in its red, red eyes.

Geralt bares his teeth and grins, hard and promising of death, tasting iron and ash. “I am not only one man. I am a witcher.”

The monster wearing Jaskier’s skin laughs, nothing like Jaskier’s laugh, not bright nor warm. The sound of it cuts the air against Geralt’s skin, grinds against his eardrums, rips the air from his lungs. “I applaud your passion and devotion. Worry not. I’ll return him to you, unharmed. He still has many stories to tell, and I treat my vessels well.”

It leans down to pat Geralt on the cheek, and the world slowly splinters sideways. “Until we meet again, witcher.”

Reality snaps back into itself and Jaskier keels over onto the ground. The weight holding Geralt down releases and he surges forward, turns the bard over onto his back.

Jaskier’s skin is smeared with blood and dirt but there is no gaping gash at his throat, no monstrous eyes bulging through his clothes. Geralt pats him down nonetheless and can’t find any injuries. He huffs, blowing a strand of hair out of his eyes, and watches Jaskier’s steady breaths.

The burnt out village is still burnt out but standing. The ground is dusty but without any cracks. The sky may be cloudy, but it is whole. The silver of his sword glints several paces away, and Geralt should be retrieving it, but he has a more important matter to attend to. He sits back on his heels and sighs.

“Geralt?” Jaskier stirs and blinks his blue, blue eyes open. “What- what are you doing here? Wait, what am I doing here? Last thing I remember was getting ready for bed at the inn- How’d I get here? And where is here? Geralt, why are you making that face, did something happen- oof!”

Geralt wraps his arms around Jaskier and holds on tight.

**Author's Note:**

> Jaskier: Why am I covered in blood?!  
> Geralt: …Hmm.
> 
> This fic is based on that one fanart where Jaskier is Destiny/fate with a lot of eyes looking out from the slits in his doublet. If you are the artist of that piece of fanart and want me to credit you, please let me know! Thanks to @nightskyfangirl for helping me find a copy of it.


End file.
